The Friends in Need
by Leni
Summary: Set post The Woman in White. "Girl talk. Or," Jack added when she made a noise of protest, "a conversation between two adult, mature women who are best friends and can talk about the stupid stuff men do without anyone losing a finger."


Written for DoreyG at Comment_Fic.

**Prompt: **_I need a drink and a shade of lipstick that will put the fear of God in a man's heart._

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><p><strong>THE FRIENDS IN NEED<br>**

_by Leni_

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><p>Brennan knew she'd missed an important clue when, as her family crossed the threshold of Jack and Angela's home, Booth took a look at Jack's face and made the gesture that Brennan had learned to recognize as a sympathetic wince.<p>

She peered at Jack, trying to pinpoint the cause for Booth's reaction, but all she caught was his uncertain smile when he noticed her scrutiny. If anything was the matter with her friend, she was as blind to it as ever.

Just as well that she was married to a man by whom little went unnoticed.

Which didn't mean she appreciated being left out of the loop.

"Will someone tell me what's wrong?" she demanded, letting her eyebrow lift half an inch into an annoyed arch. The annoyance was directed at herself, for her continued inability to interpret the situation, but the men didn't need to know that.

Both of them turned to her; Jack looking confused while Booth's lips had started to quirk into a smile.

"By which we mean," he translated, addressing their host, "is this a bad time?" He hefted Christine a little higher when she started to squirm in demand to be let down. Their daughter found no end to the joys of two-legged locomotion, and was likely to start running as soon as a firm enough surface presented itself - and to scramble to get to it as soon as she spotted one. "Because we can reschedule. Take the princess to the park instead."

Jack shook his head. "No, of course not. Michael is eager for his date."

"_Play_ date," both she and Booth corrected in unison.

Jack laughed. "Yes, yes, of course."

The lighthearted moment relaxed his features, and the contrast to his previous expression impressed upon Brennan that there _was_ something wrong. She looked up at Booth, realizing she was seeking guidance only when he responded with a slight shake of his head.

Having learned to let him take the lead in scenarios such as this, Brennan distracted herself by studying the new photography set that Angela had hung over their living room wall: a study of the full moon through different lenses. Her best friend had never been able to settle on a definitive decoration scheme in her personal space - and even her office at the Jeffersonian suffered an upheaval every few months. Married life seemed to have contained Angela's artistic eye only in as much as the heavy furniture stayed in place; the smaller pieces were still fair game.

"Impressive," she remarked, nodding toward the pictures. It still amazed her that Angela found the time - and the inspiration - to create beauty despite their job. Still smiling, she said, "I'm glad Angela has picked up her camera again."

Jack glanced away, looking over the pictures briefly before heaving a sigh. "Yeah, well. She hasn't been resting much, getting them finished." He didn't look relaxed anymore, but he rallied with, "They do look good, though, don't they?"

As she had just stated her approval, Brennan decided it was a rhetorical question. That usually meant she was allowed to withdraw from the conversation. Taking advantage, she leaned toward Booth and took their fussing child from his arms. Christine didn't become any quieter when held by her mother, but Brennan had a firm belief in sharing every aspect of raising her.

"Someone's eager to start, eh?" Jack noted.

Booth chuckled. "Yes, she's quite the stubborn one." He gave Brennan a pointed look. "No idea where she's got it from."

"Oh, I don't know, man," Jack laughed, waving them over on the way to the nursery. "I'd say she's come honestly to it from both sides."

Booth's shoulders lifted in wordless acceptance. Neither did he look too concerned at the remark.

Which went on to prove that he was proud of whichever traits he'd passed on to his offspring.

Brennan found she couldn't quite disapprove of the sentiment. She did hope Christine got her curiosity and zeal to satisfy it, after all.

She followed Jack down the corridor, and had only gotten halfway to their destination when she realized Booth had stopped a few feet behind her. She glanced back at him quizzically, but he put a finger to his lips before he called out, "Hey, Hodgins. I forgot a bag of Christine's toys outside; you don't want to be around her when she discovers she's not got them."

Brennan was always surprised when he lied so smoothly, but now she was confused as well.

He made a show of tossing the car keys into the air and catching them in his right hand. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Sure," Jack answered.

To Brennan alone, Booth's look added _you've got this_, before he rounded about in search for the nonexistent toys. She barely had time to wonder at his actions before Jack whirled toward her and, hands held together before his chest into a subconscious begging gesture, started, "Please, _please_ talk to Angela."

Brennan stared at him, holding Christine a bit tighter. "I did plan to," she said slowly.

Jack shook his head. "I mean the serious stuff. Heart-to-heart, mind-to-mind. _Girl talk_. Or," he added when she made a noise of protest, "a conversation between two adult, mature women who are best friends and can talk about the stupid stuff men do without anyone losing a finger."

Brennan worked through his meaning. "We _are_ best friends," she allowed, "and men _can_ act in less than smart ways. Far less."

Jack nodded.

Then Brennan frowned. "A finger?"

"Long story," Jack waved it off. Brennan was relieved to count five fingers on each hand. "So... will you?"

"Talk to my best friend? Sure."

"Good." Jack looked relieved. "She's in the bedroom. Just... knock first, and... um. Make sure to let her know it's you before you go in."

The puzzle pieced itself together. "What did you do?"

He cringed, pinched the bridge of his nose, brought one hand to his other wrist and tugged at the skin there before he caught himself. "That's the problem," he confessed at last. "I've got no idea. We were having breakfast, the news were on... I may have made a comment about the weather?" He looked helpless. "Then Angie said she needed some time alone, and when I went to check on her... Let's say I didn't believe her when she said nothing was wrong," he finished, unconsciously rubbing the pinkie of his right hand.

"That's the long story?"

"Pretty much." He gave a tentative smile. "Right now my best hope is that you'll tell her that whatever I did, I didn't mean to. Please?"

Brennan thought it over, and didn't like the conclusion she came to. "You're trusting me to deal successfully with an emotionally charged situation. I don't think I can-"

"Dr. Brennan," Jack interrupted her, "I'm a desperate man. I'm begging you."

"I swear, Bones," Booth's voice cut in. "I leave you for two minutes, and you have a married man begging for your favors."

"One favor, and you expected it."

"True. What now?" He put a hand on her shoulder, a wordless show of support to whichever decision she made, and Brennan knew that instead of trying to interfere, he was making funny faces at Christine behind her back. Their girl gleefully responded by stretching her arms trying to reach her father.

Brennan held Christine out to Booth, and nodded at Jack. "Now I go talk to my best friend," she said, "as we are adult, mature women who don't take off other people's fingers without good reason."

Booth's eyebrow shot up. "That's... good to hear." He glanced between her and Jack even as he bounced their daughter until she squealed. "What exactly did I miss?"

"Long story," Brennan told him, and didn't miss Jack's snort of laughter. "See you later," she told Booth, leaning up for a quick kiss before she headed in the direction of the master bedroom. Following Jack's directions, she made sure to knock first and announce her identity.

"Come in," Angela's voice came through the door.

If Brennan had considered any expectations, she'd have guessed that she'd find her friend bent over her sketching pad, or perhaps fiddling with the smaller version of the Angelinator. Angela's moods tended to turn into expressions of art as she worked through them.

Instead, Angela was sitting at her vanity table, an array of cosmetics on the table surface. Most of the bottles and cases seemed to have been opened and discarded, and now she was busy brushing a navy blue shadow on the edge of her eyelids. "Sweetie!" she welcomed Brennan, putting down the pencil-fine brush. "I'm so glad you're here! I'll need help with my hair." She pointed at the bed, where, on top of what seemed the entire contents of Angela's wardrobe, there was a laptop showing a picture of a complicated array of thick braids interlaced with thinner ones. "Won't it look lovely?"

Brennan gave the hairdo a critical glance. "It will," she said honestly.

Angela beamed and started working on her other eye. "Good. I want to look spectacular tonight."

Brennan decided she was confused. "What's happening tonight, Ange?"

"I'm going out."

"...with Jack?" she pressed.

Angela paused. "Probably not."

"So you _are_ angry with him?"

The idea seemed to shock the other woman. "What? No!" She thought it over for a second. "Okay, maybe a little. But, mostly, I'm mad with myself."

Now Brennan was _definitely_ confused. "I'm confused," she said. With Angela, it was best to make bald statements; that way there were fewer chances that the conversation would derail into metaphor and artistic license of interpretation.

"Oh, sweetie. Did Jack send you in to smooth things over between us?"

Brennan didn't mind the disbelief in Angela's voice. "He did say he was desperate," she pointed out.

Angela made a muffled sound. It probably was laughter. "Poor thing."

"He was also afraid for his fingers."

This time Angela rolled her eyes. "Who keeps their hand on the door frame when the door is being slammed shut?"

"...your husband?"

"Indeed, my husband." Angela took a long glance at the mirror and then, without turning around, motioned to the bed. "Could you pass me that?"

As her best friend was now lifting locks of hair, combing through them so they'd be easy to separate before braiding, Brennan brought over the laptop, making sure the screen was easily visible from Angela's position.

"Is he very worried?"

"Yes," Brennan answered immediately. "He believes he did something wrong, and doesn't know what it was."

Angela started shaking her head, and stopped immediately when she realized it upset the braids she'd gathered on the top of her head. "He said it was just as well that winter would settle in earlier this year, since it wasn't as if we went out at night anymore." She sighed. "Really. He only mentioned what I should have noticed already."

"We've gone out. Last week, we-"

"Just the two of us, sweetie," Angela explained. "Just Jack and I, the dance floor, and a babysitter hired through the night."

That did sound lovely, Brennan thought. "So," she hazarded a guess, "now you're going out... by yourself?"

"It made sense when I thought of it," Angela said. "And really, why not? I'm young. I'm gorgeous. And it's about time I remember it. All I need tonight is a drink and a shade of lipstick that will put the fear of God in a man's heart."

"I'm not sure about God, Angie, but out there Jack looked terrified. Of you."

That made her friend beam up. "Even better. I'll make it up to him, promise; but in the meanwhile..." Angela looked over her make-up collection and picked out one tube, a triumphant smile on her face. "I say we party, Brennan."

"'We'?"

Angela gave her an entreating look. "It'll be fun. And, come on, how long has it been since the two of us hung out without husbands or babies?"

"Last week-"

"_Outside_ the Jeffersonian."

Brennan had to admit it had been months, at least.

An hour later, they found their men in the nursery, sitting on the carpet with two buckets of giant Legos between them while the children played with a beach ball on the other end.

Booth noticed them first. "Hey, Bones. ...Angela. We were just-" Whatever excuse he would have made for stealing the children's toys puttered off as he took in their appearance. "Uh... wow." He scrambled to his feet, with an equally appreciative Jack following suit. "Going somewhere, ladies?"

Brennan adjusted the strap of the dress she'd borrowed for tonight. "Apparently we will look for alcohol and to start a new religious wave that hinges upon Angela's power over life and death. Or orgasms. The conversation got complicated at that point."

Booth and Jack pressed their lips together.

Angela touched Brennan's arm and whispered, "Let's leave a little mystery, Bren." Then she faced the men. "What's important here is that _we_ are going to dance, and _you_" - her gaze passed over Booth and settled on her husband with a daring look - "will watch Michael and Christine while we're gone."

Jack raised an eyebrow, but a slow smile curved his lips. "And what's in it for us?"

Angela's answering smile held a saucy edge. "If you're good, we'll bring you a treat."

"What kind of treat?" Brennan asked, ever curious. It was Booth who answered, walking up to her and tilting her head up for a goodbye kiss. A very thorough goodbye kiss. "Oh," she said when he stepped back. "_Those _treats."

Beside them, Angela and Jack were involved in their own conversation.

"You're okay with this?" Brennan asked, feeling a little foolish at the question. But she wasn't asking for permission, she reminded herself. It was just that marriage meant acting in consensus, and marriage to Booth meant she trusted him when he had an objection.

He didn't even pause for a doubt. "Of course," Booth said. "Have fun, Bones. Christine and I will miss you."

She smiled, not finding it necessary to verbalize her feelings. Instead she gave him one last kiss before going down to her knees beside Christine for a hug. "Be good, baby,"

"You ready?" Angela asked, already on her feet after saying goodbye to Michael.

_Not really,_ Brennan thought, making an effort not to glance longingly at her husband or her daughter. But Angela was her best friend, her _only_ friend long before she'd even met Booth or considered having a child. "Sure, Ange."

If Angela wanted a night together, then Brennan would make sure to enjoy it.

She could always go back home in the morning.

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><p><strong>THE END<strong>

**10/09/14**


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